


The Christmas Doll

by Serenitys_Lady



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitys_Lady/pseuds/Serenitys_Lady
Summary: The Doctor tries to right a Christmas wrong.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Donna Noble
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Christmas Doll

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but an exorbitant amount of Christmas decorations and fairy lights. The Doctor comes to visit on occasion, but will never stay, more’s the pity.
> 
> A/N1: It felt weird not to write my annual Christmas story. In this dumpster fire that was 2020, it felt really important to maintain some traditions. I had a little chat with my Muse, and between us, we came up with this bit of Christmas fluff. ..
> 
> A/N2: This is sort of a continuation from “Call Me Jeff”. You don’t have to have read it, but it may help.
> 
> A/N3: As we were never given any clear indication as to Donna’s age when she met the Doctor, I chose to make her about 39, making her birth year 1968 (which happens to correspond to CT’s actual birth year).
> 
> A/N4: This was written in about 3 days, so please be kind. It is not beta’d and feels a bit rushed, because it probably was. I may rewrite it at a future date.

_Chiswick, London, England, Earth, the Solar System_

_December 1, 1974_

_A young girl of about 6 years was sat at her tiny desk in her bedroom, pencil in hand, scowling at the blank piece of paper before her. She was writing her annual letter to Santa Claus and it had to be perfect. She knew what she wanted. It wasn’t much, she didn’t think. But, all the same, choosing the right words could only strengthen her chances._

_She scratched her tangle of ginger curls absently as she began to write:_

**Dear Father Christmas, (it couldn’t hurt to be a polite, she thought)**

**First, I want to thank you for all of the presents you have brought in the past. My Mum says I didn’t deserve them but everyone knows how generous and forgiving you are.**

**I’m really sorry about punching Timothy Westbrook. But he started it by pulling my hair and calling me a ginger cow. His nose wasn’t really broken, and he only got a bit of a black eye. Again, I am very sorry.**

**I know I need to listen to my Mum, and I do try, but she does nag at me, and I can’t always stop the words from coming out. I promise I’ll try harder to be nice in the new year.**

**I only want a couple of things this year. I want to be a ballerina when I grow up, so a tutu and those satiny shoes would be lovely. But mostly, what I really, really want is a doll. Not one of those crying, wetting baby dolls. I want a proper doll, like the ones that Alexander person* makes. I promise to take really good care of her. I won’t take her out of the house or play in the mud with her. I’ll keep her clothes really clean. Oh, and one last thing, if she could have ginger hair like mine, that would be really nice.**

**Thank you so much, Santa. I’ll leave extra biscuits for you on Christmas Eve. And carrots for the reindeer. Please give Dancer an extra hug for me. She’s my favourite.**

**Yours,**

**Donna Eileen Noble**

**Age 6 and a half**

_Donna reread her words and sat back, satisfied that she had written the best possible letter. She carefully folded the paper and slid it into a red envelope she had purchased especially for this purpose. She had the idea that Santa would be drawn to the colour and, as a result, would be sure to read it. She slipped off the chair and quietly crept down the stairs._

_Going into the hallway, she carefully slid the crimson packet in the stack of outgoing mail on the side table. She knew her mother wasn’t happy that she still insisted on writing her annual letter to Santa, so she needed to use a bit of subterfuge. She couldn’t walk to the post box by herself, more’s the pity._

_The following morning, Silvia Noble grabbed the pile of mail on her way out. She was in a mood, having been made late, due to another tantrum from her increasingly difficult daughter. Once again, she had tried to beg off going to school, claiming to be ill, when she was just being stubborn. ‘Everyone gets teased at school,’ the woman reasoned. ‘It was high time she grew up and learned to stand up for herself.’_

_Shoving the envelopes into her coat pocket as she huffed to the car, she didn’t notice that one brightly colourful one slipped to the pavement. As she pulled away from the kerb, it caught on one of the tyres. Halfway down the street, it blew off, landing in the gutter, where it was washed down into the sewer._

Chiswick, London, England, Earth, the Solar System

December 26. Present Day

The Doctor and Donna returned to the TARDIS after a very pleasant late lunch with her mother and grandfather. Donna and Sylvia spent the morning at the Boxing Day sales, not really shopping, just enjoying each other’s company and laughing at all the silly people jostling for that one last bargain. Returning home, they found the Doctor and Wilf where they had been for the better part of the last two days, ‘up the hill’, trying out and adjusting the new lens the Doctor had given him. They not only viewed the star cluster they had found – turned out it wasn’t exactly _new_ but just in a slightly different configuration than the Doctor remembered – but Wilf was able to see the star he discovered** even more clearly.

The Doctor programmed the TARDIS to settle for a while in the Vortex, knowing she would alert him of there was any potential crises brewing in the Universe. He had – to his great surprise – enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere of the last few days, spent playing silly games, watching telly, and eating enormous amounts of delicious food that Sylvia seemed to create out of nothing. He had several large carry bags of leftovers that Sylvia insisted they take back with them to his ship. _‘I’ve seen his appetite,’_ she told Donna, as she pressed the containers on them, _‘and God knows he could use a bit of fattening up!’_

After putting the containers in the refrigerator, Donna went to her room to change into ‘hang about the TARDIS’ clothes, agreeing to meet the Doctor in the lounge. When she entered the still-decorated room, he was busy laying a fire and coaxing it to life. They both realized that the TARDIS could create one for them on demand, but he took great pride in personally doing some of the little things he knew would make her happy.

Donna smiled to herself, watching him putter around. He had eschewed his usual pinstripes for simple jeans and a tasteful Christmas jumper,*** well, more tasteful than the gaudy getup he had worn the morning before. It made her smile, watching him trying so hard to be _‘normal’_.

She sat down on the soft leather sofa and called out to him, “Are you gonna come and sit down, or do you plan to poke and prod at that fire until you put it out, Bob Cratchit?”

He turned, grinning at her Dickens reference. “You know,” he remarked, as he wended his way to the sofa, “I really should take you to meet old Charlie. You’d love him.” A thought occurred to him. “Hmm, that could be tricky, seeing as how I’ve been there before. Well, the old me.” He grew a bit wistful, remembering how soon before the writer’s death that visit was. He shook off the thought. “Anyway. Tea!” He reached for the teapot and began to pour. 

Donna was a little quiet herself. The last three days had been rather overwhelming, what with the reconciliation with her mother and the Doctor’s final surprise. She set her cup down and said, “Doctor, I wanted to thank you again. For the thoughtful gifts you gave Mum and Gramps. For sticking around and not scarpering off to the TARDIS. But most especially, for taking me to meet Jeff. I was really touched, well, once I had gotten over the initial shock and all of that. It was really quite thoughtful.”

The Doctor beamed. He had been so afraid, after Donna’s original – and totally unexpected – reaction, that he had done more harm than good with his gesture. “I’m so sorry about surprising you that way. I just thought meeting the great man would be the final step in awakening your Christmas spirit. I’m glad it all worked out in the end.”

Donna patted his arm. “Silly Spaceman,” she clucked. “You could have explained beforehand, but I know you do like a good surprise.” Something suddenly occurred to her. “Bollocks,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Donna? What’s wrong,” the Doctor asked, instantly concerned.

Seeing the look of panic in his eyes, she chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing serious. I just realized that I missed a perfect opportunity, meeting the Big Guy like that.”

“Opportunity?” the Doctor inquired.

“To ask him something. It’s silly, really. About a doll.” She put down her teacup and turned to explain. “When I was little, I dutifully wrote to Father Christmas every single year, in early December, usually the first or second. I hoped getting my letter in early would give it a better chance of being read and, as a result, have my gift request granted. I was a very practical child in some ways. And I never asked for much, thinking it would be better to list one or two things that were really important, rather than a laundry list of wishes that would never be realized.

“Well, one year, when I was about 6 – this was **_before_** Cordelia Pritchard-Smith made her hateful revelation – I wrote my letter as usual, asking for a doll. It was a particular type of doll, not a baby doll or those fashion model dolls that were so popular. But a real, proper doll, all posh and elegant. She wore a blue satin gown with a frilly bonnet, white gloves, and little black boots that buttoned on the side. Alexander Somebody made them, I forget who. 

“But I really, really wanted it. And I hadn’t asked anyone for anything else. I had always received my Santa-gift in the past. But that year, nothing. Well, not exactly _nothing_. My parents and grandparents gave me lovely things. But it wasn’t the same. Added to Cordelia’s nastiness, not getting the doll was the beginning of the end of my belief in Santa Claus.” She sipped her tea and added, “It’s not important, really. I just wish I knew why.”

The Doctor smiled sympathetically at her. “We’ll go back next year,” he promised. “You can ask him then.”

Donna waved the idea away. “Don’t be daft,” she replied. “He’s got far more important things to do than to satisfy the curiosity of a silly little girl. Nobody gets everything they ask for. Nor should they.”

They sat together on the sofa in companionable silence, sipping their tea and listening to the crackle of the fire. The Doctor savoured these quiet moments more than he ever imagined he would. After a while, he noticed Donna was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder and her eyes closed. As much as he enjoyed having her cuddled next to him, he knew she would embarrassed if she were caught out in that position. He smiled and disentangled himself, moving her teacup to the side table before gently shaking her awake.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepy-head,” he joked as she opened her eyes.

“Blimey,” she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Why’d you let me fall asleep on the sofa? Like a little kid!”

“It’s been a long day, a long _few_ days, actually. And I thought I’d let you rest.”

She patted his arm and yawned. “Sweet of you. But I’d best get to bed and get a proper sleep. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

As she stood, she started to gather the tea cups. “Don’t bother with those.” He insisted. “I’ll do that. Off to bed with you!”

“See you in the morning, Doctor,” she replied as she walked to the door

With Donna gone, the Doctor cleared up the tea things and carried the tray to the galley. He thought about just leaving them in the sink, but knew Donna would grouse about it in the morning if he did. This task completed, he went to the Control Room, thinking he would tinker with the ship while Donna slept.

He had long since stopped complaining about the inordinate amount of sleep his human companions needed each “day”. Tonight, it didn’t even occur to him. Something else was bothering him. The story Donna had told him didn’t ring true to him for some reason, and his brain wouldn’t let it go. He knew his friend Jeff rather well, and could not imagine he would blatantly ignore a child’s wish. It was an anomaly, and he had to get to the bottom of it. Impulsively, he decided to ring up his friend. 

“Good evening, Jeff. I hope you’re having a good rest.”

“Doctor!” the jovial voice at the other end boomed. “What a coincidence. I was just telling Mary that I ought to call and find out how Donna is doing. You have to admit, that was a bit of a rude awakening you gave the poor girl.”

The Doctor cringed at the reproach. “I know, I know,: he admitted. “I could have handled it better. But everything’s fine on that front.” He paused. “But it _is_ Donna I’m calling about. How long do you keep the letters written to you by children?” he asked.

“I have every letter I’ve ever received. We digitized many of them a number of years ago. Why do you ask?”

“So, if I gave you a name, date and place, you could tell me if you received a letter?”

Jeff was intrigued. “Of course I can. What is this about?”

The Doctor recounted the story Donna had told him. “Now, I can’t believe you would ever deny a child a legitimate request, so I have to know. Did you get Donna’s letter?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then the sound of furious typing, followed by the opening and closing of drawers. After a several long minutes, the receiver was picked up. “I’ve searched every file, and even looked through the hard copies we still have around. I can say for certain that I never received any letter from Donna Eileen Noble in the year 1974. I’m sorry, Doctor,” Jeff sighed heavily.

“Thanks, old friend,” the Doctor answered. “That just confirms what I already suspected. One question answered, another mystery to solve.” Jeff wished him luck, and the Doctor rang off.

The Doctor was now on a mission. He had to find out what happened to the letter, discover why it never reached its intended destination. He had his suspicions, and they made his stomach turn. He flew around the console, pulling levers, punching buttons, and praying his TARDIS would cooperate and take him to the exact time and place he wanted to go. The Time Rotor began to move.

When the soft bump came that indicated that they had landed, the Doctor carefully activated the perception filter so that the blue box and its inhabitant would be virtually invisible to anyone on the street. He slowly opened the door, and was delighted to find that he was literally across the street from the Mott-Noble house. He stood in the open doorway, silent and as unseen as a Dickens ghost on Christmas Eve. He was determined to stay there until he had found the explanation.

He didn’t have to wait very long. Not a half hour later, Sylvia Noble came charging out of her front door, in an obvious sour mood. The Doctor observed as she hastily shoved a handful of mail into her pocket, unlocked the car, got in, and started to pull away from the kerb. It was only then that he noticed the piece of red paper that stuck to one of the tyres. Realizing what it probably was, he watched in horror as the car started down the street.

The red paper made several revolutions around the tyre before being dislodged and resting in the gutter. At that same moment, someone up the street had been watering his lawn, and the run-off was heading down the gutter toward the paper. The Doctor sprinted out of the TARDIS and down the street, and snatched up the red paper before it could be destroyed.

Walking back into the ship, he turned the envelope over and over in his hands. Now that he had discovered why it was never delivered, what was he to do with it? Should he put it in the post, as it was intended? No, he reasoned. That would create a paradox and may change the person Donna becomes, and he was quite fond of that person. So what was he to do?

The next morning, Donna awoke rested and refreshed, having slept past the time she normally rose. Which surprised her, frankly. Generally, if she attempted to sleep in, the Doctor begged, cajoled, whined or just paced back and forth outside her bedroom door until she gave in and got up. So this was very strange.

Equally strange was the smell of coffee and bacon that wafted in as soon as she opened her door. 

_‘He let me sleep in and is making breakfast,’_ she remarked to herself. _‘I wonder what he’s up to.’_

She drew on her warmest dressing gown and fuzzy slippers – the TARDIS was always too cold for her liking – and made for the galley. Quietly approaching, she was amused to hear a Christmas carol being whistled. She stood unnoticed in the doorway, watching for a few minutes, before the Doctor turned and saw her.

“Donna!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping to bring you breakfast in bed.” His shoulders sagged at bit at the disappointment.

“What a lovely idea. That’s very sweet of you.” She stepped into the room and stated, “So what exactly have you done?”

Confused by her attitude, he protested. “What do you mean? All I’ve done is make breakfast.”

“I mean, Time Boy, why do you feel the need to ply me with … are those blueberry and pecan pancakes??”

“As a matter of fact, they are,” he replied smugly. “I know how much to love them, so I thought…”

She cut him off. “I can imagine what you thought. I repeat my question. What have you done that requires you to make my favourite breakfast so I won’t be mad at you?”

The Doctor sighed. This was not going according to plan, which shouldn’t have surprised him, as few of his plans ever did. “Can we please have a pleasant breakfast? I promise I’ll explain it all in due time.”

“You’d better,” Donna insisted, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table. She couldn’t resist blueberry and pecan pancakes.

Patience was never one of Donna’s virtues so, after breakfast was eaten, the dishes were cleared and washed, and the kitchen cleaned, she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “Okay, Sunshine. What gives? What was this all about? You can’t have done anything too terrible. You haven’t had the time! Out with it!”

The Doctor knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking her by the elbow, he guided her to the Control Room and indicated she was to sit on the pilot’s seat. Eyeing him suspiciously, she lowered herself into the cracked leather and stared, eyes narrowed and brows knitted.

The Doctor began to pace, which was never a good sign. After two circuits around the console, he stopped in front of her, took a deep breath, and began.

“Last night, after you went to bed, I did something. I know I should have asked your permission but I was quite perplexed and needed to resolve a few issues.”

“Perplexed?” she sputtered. “About what? What issues?? And what would you need my permission for?!?!” She was becoming concerned now.

“That story you told me, about the letter when you were a child. Something bothered me about it.”

“Are you calling me a liar?!” she cried.

“No, no, not at all!” He paced again. “I meant that I couldn’t believe Jeff would have disappointed you like that. So I called him. Turns out, he never got your letter. And that troubled me even more. What could have happened to it?”

“Oh, I can guess,” Donna snorted. “Mum found it and tossed it. I know she didn’t like me writing them but Dad and Gramps encouraged me.” Her eyes grew sad at the memory.

The Doctor came and sat next to her. “I will admit, that was _my_ first thought too. So I went back to Chiswick in 1974 to see if I could find out.” He had planned to have it out with the woman if it were true. He took Donna’s hand and assured her. “Your mother didn’t throw away your letter. It fell out of her pocket and landed in the street. If I hadn’t been there, it would have been washed down the gutter.” He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a red envelope, and handed it to her.

She stared at it in disbelief. “My letter,” she whispered. “Gramps helped me buy that red envelope special, so Santa would notice it.” She turned it over and ran her fingers over the sealed flap. “You didn’t open it,” she observed.

He smiled crookedly. “It’s not addressed to me,” he remarked.

“So this is what you thought I’d be so mad about that you cooked breakfast?” she asked incredulously.

“No, not that,” he replied. “This.” He reached under the pilot’s seat and retrieved a large wrapped parcel. He handed it to her and stood back, waiting for her reaction.

Donna sat motionlessly with the parcel on her lap. Slowly, she began to remove the colourful paper. When enough of the contents were visible, her eyes grew wide and she gasped. She tore through the remainder and gazed in wonder at the most beautiful doll she had ever seen.

She was 18 inches tall, dressed as a Victorian lady, in a royal blue satin gown with white gloves, black button boots, and a bonnet with white frills, navy blue satin ribbons and a cluster of bluebells on the side. Donna gazed intently at her and then turned back to the Doctor.

“She’s exactly as I remembered,” she exclaimed. Then she stopped. “No, not exactly. This one’s got ginger pipe curls. I know I asked for ginger but I didn’t think they made them that way.”

The Doctor smiled. “They didn’t. At least not this precise one.” Touching a finger to one of the doll’s curls, he explained. “I found the manufacturer and put in a special order. They were only too happy to make a little girl’s dream come true. Well, especially after I made a tiny improvement on one of their manufacturing machines,” he added, with false modesty.

Donna’s eyes were shining as she looked up him. “You did all this for me?” Why?”

“So my girl wouldn’t be disappointed on Christmas,” he stated simply.

“A few decades late,” she snarked, trying to hide how deeply his gesture had affected her.

“It’s never too late to make someone happy,” he responded.

Donna stood and threw her arms around him, hugging him for all she was worth. “Thank you, Doctor. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Only the best for the best.”

As they stood at the console, Donna quietly remarked, “ _‘Your girl’_ , huh?

The Doctor grimaced. “You heard that, did you?”

“Yep.”

“Well,” he stammered, “in my defence, you are _my_ companion _and_ you’re a girl, so it’s an apt expression.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, he questioned. “No?” She shook her head. “You’re not going to let me forget this, are you?” Another shake. “Fine, then,” he stated confidently. “I stick to it. You _are_ my girl and you’d better get used to it!” 

She picked up her doll and drew her arm through his. “I think I can live with that.  
  


To all my friends and faithful readers in this crazy world:

“So grant us all a change of heart.

Rejoice for Mary’s Son.

Pray peace on earth to all mankind.

God bless us everyone!” ****

*Madame Alexander ([www.madamealexander.com](http://www.madamealexander.com)) I have no idea if the one I described was ever produced but it doesn’t really matter.

** See the DW novel “Beautiful Chaos”

*** See <https://twitter.com/i/status/1340086712266092557>

**** This is from the score to the 1984 version of “A Christmas Carol” with George C. Scott (the best version, imho) music by Nic Bicât and lyrics by Tony Bicât


End file.
